Unopened Letter to the World
by superdupersk8r61
Summary: There was one letter for each day that he was gone. One letter a day that never got sent. They were more for himself. A way to try and move on. She was never meant to know about them, and she was definitely not meant to find them. But she did. JAM R&R!
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hey everyone! As a new Office fan, I recently finished watching every episode of the show. But now I've run out. So, in order to fill the void, I decided I wanted to write my own Office fic. After thinking about it for a few days, no brilliant ideas were coming to me. In a desperate attempt, I put my iTunes on shuffle, hoping a song would somehow spark something. After a while, the Ataris' "Unopened Letter to the World" came on, and this is what I came up with: Jim has written Pam a letter every day that he was in Stamford. He just never sent them. And while she's alone at his apartment one day, she finds them. Each chapter will be a different letter and I'll try to post a letter a day. So, with that in mind, I was wondering, does anyone know how long Jim was actually in Stamford? I mean, I made up the first date, figuring it was close to Pam's wedding, but I didn't know for sure. Any information you may have will help. Thanks! So anyway, I'm going to stop rambling. I hope you enjoy the fic. Please Read and Review. Feedback is much appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Clearly, I own nothing to do with _The Office_. All rights belong to people who actually own them. I also don't own anything else you may recognize, including the title of the fic, which, like I said before, belongs to The Ataris.

* * *

"Okay, if I were popcorn, where would I be?" Pam asked aloud as she rummaged around her boyfriend Jim's kitchen, in search of the desired object. 

It was 8:00pm on a Friday, time for Pam and Jim's weekly date night. Tonight they had decided to just take it easy and watch a movie at the apartment. It was Pam's job to make the popcorn while Jim was off selecting a movie at the local Blockbuster. But, to be honest, they probably would have been better off reversing roles because she didn't know where he kept his bags of popcorn, God forbid they be in a obvious place, like you know, a _cabinet_, and the last time Jim was in charge of picking up the movie he came back with "Ice Princess" instead of "The Princess Bride." She still hasn't forgiven him for that yet.

But, we digress. After looking through all the cabinets in the kitchen, in one last desperate attempt, she opened the broom closet. And low and behold, perched on the shelf, seemingly taunting her, was the six-pack of Pop Secret popcorn.

"Why would this be in here?" Pam wondered, while incredulously shaking her head. But, after thinking about it for a moment, it was _Jim_ she was talking about, and sometimes these things are better off left unknown.

As she was just about to turn around and shut off the light, something in the corner of the closet caught her eye. Sticking out of an old Nike shoebox was a slim, white envelope. Written on the front, in Jim's handwriting, was her old address. The one where she lived with Roy.

Telling herself that it was none of her business, Pam shut off the light and shut the door. She made it about halfway back to the kitchen when she paused. "Who the hell am I kidding?" she asked with a sarcastic laugh. She promptly spun on her heel and went back down the hall, flinging open the closet door.

Taking a quick glance at her watch, she mentally calculated that she still had a good amount of time before Jim returned and could catch her. So she snatched the envelope and opened it carefully so she could later put back everything in its rightful place without Jim becoming suspicious.

Pam pulled out a letter from the envelope. The first thing she saw was the date. June 1st. June 1st, June 1st. Why did that date sound familiar? And then it hit her. June 1st was the day after May 31st. And as obvious as that sounds, May 31st of last year was Casino Night at Dunder Mifflin. Which meant June 1st was the day Jim left Scranton for Stamford, without ever saying goodbye.

Well, there was no way Pam was going to let this go now. She had to know what Jim had to say on the whole Stamford situation, and was also curious to know what he wrote that he didn't see fit to actually _send_. So she took a deep breath, and began to read.

* * *

**A/N2: **Thanks to countrycutie424 for catching my slip about not mentioning the fact that Pam actually s_aw_ the letter the first time she went into the closet. I had this story saved in two different places and must have used the wrong version. I feel wicked stupid I didn't catch it. So, thanks again! 


	2. Letter 1

**A/N:** Thanks to those who have reviewed so far. Your reviews keep me motivated, which, I'll admit, might be hard for me when countrycutie424 helped me realize that my plan for this story would include about 6 months of letters. So not sure how it's gonna go, but I'm definitely gonna try. So without further ado, here is the first letter! Admitedly, it is a little cheesy, and might not really be in character for Jim, but I felt the first one needs to be pretty intense. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

* * *

June 1

Pam-

So, I'm not really sure what to say. And, yeah, I know the fact that those words were the ones I chose is totally cliché, and I know that you're probably rolling your eyes as you read this, but I swear it's the God's honest truth.

I realize that leaving without an explanation or even a goodbye may seem like a pretty weak move, but you need to understand why I did what I did. The truth is, I love you. And I know, I know, I told you that last night, but I don't think you really understood the magnitude of what I was trying to say.

I love you so much that I couldn't bear (okay, how sad is it that the second I wrote "bear", Dwight popped into my mind?) hearing you talk about Roy and the wedding and how happy you were going to be. I literally could feel a sharp pain in my heart every time I was reminded we would never be together. That's why I complained to Toby. I wasn't just venting and it wasn't just one day. It was every day. Every day that I thought of you and Roy together. And I know what that old cliché says, "If you really love someone, you'll be happy if they're happy," or whatever, but I'm sorry, that's bullshit. I felt that if I heard one more detail about what shade of white your napkins were going to be, I would throw myself under a bus. Plain and simple, I had to get away from it all.

I know I should be thankful that we are friends, that I'm lucky to have you in my life at all, and I tried. I did, Pam, I really did. I really did. I tried to put a smile on my face, suck it up, and act like nothing was wrong. And it worked for a while, because, I've liked you since my first day at Dunder Mifflin when you said, "Enjoy this moment, because you're never going to go back to this time before you met your deskmate Dwight." I realized I loved you when we were super-gluing all of Dwight's things to his desk after everyone had left one night and your nose kept crinkling as you tried to hold back giggles. You just looked so damn cute. I fell in love with you and your nose crinklies. And, I don't know if you remember that, but it was, like, two years ago. I've hidden my true feelings for you for two years. And it just became too much to take. I had to tell you how I felt last night. And I'm not sure what I expected you to say. If I were to be honest with myself, I probably shouldn't have expected you to do anything. It's only ten days until your wedding. And I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward position. But I had said what I had to say, but then I had to get away.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. None of this is your fault. It's me. Me and my ridiculously bad timing. And maybe someday we can be friends again. But for now, you'll be there in Scranton, and I'll be here in Stamford. I think it'll be easier for the both of us.

-Jim

* * *

Pam, her hand trembling slightly, laid the letter down on the shelf next to her, a dazed expression on her face. Of course she knew Jim had been in love with her then, but she didn't know it had been to that extent. Even after he returned to Scranton, even when they began dating, they never talked about that fateful night. Why hadn't he told her? Better yet, why hadn't he sent the letter?

Brushing a single tear from her cheek, Pam put the letter back in the envelope and pulled down the shoebox to replace the envelope, all the while contemplating whether or not she should confront Jim about it.

When she opened the shoebox, she let out a loud gasp. Inside the box, there must have been at least 100 envelopes, all arranged neatly. Pulling the front one out, it too, had her old address on it. And after thumbing through the others, it seemed they all were addressed to her.

Letting curiosity get the better of her, she snatched the next envelope from the box, tore it open, not caring about keeping it in good condition anymore, and began to read.

* * *

**In the next letter:** Jim reflects on his first day at Dunder Mifflin Stamford 


	3. Letter 2

June 2

Pam-

I told myself that I wasn't going to do this. I told myself that I was going to detach myself from you, at least for a little while, to maybe give myself a chance to heal. But, easier said than done I guess, because today was my first day at Dunder Mifflin Stamford and the only person I want to talk about it with…is you.

The moment I walked through the doors, my eyes went directly to the receptionist's desk. And, as crazy as it may sound, I was almost surprised when I didn't see you sitting there. Unless, you know, you somehow morphed into a middle-aged, overweight, balding man in the past couple of days. And if that's the case, then I guess I don't have to worry about being in love with you anymore, huh? Kidding. I would love you no matter what.

It was weird going into work and not hearing Michael's stupid impressions or Dwight's rants about the latest episode of Battlestar Galactica, and you know, basically not knowing anyone. Josh, the manager, showed me around and introduced me to everyone, and they all seem pretty cool. Well, there is this one guy, Andy, who seems like a complete toolbag. I brought a tuna sandwich for lunch and he immediately dubbed me, "Big Tuna." I mean, who does that? He also likes to sing. Like, a lot. And in a high, warbly, falsetto voice. I had to find this out the hard way, as my desk is directly behind his. His tune of choice? "It's a Small World." It's terrible, really. I might almost rather listen to Dwight order deer urine off the internet. But I don't know for sure yet, I haven't decided.

But as horribly annoying as Andy was, the worst part of the day was not being able to escape to the receptionist desk to hear some encouraging words and snipe some jellybeans. I guess I took it for granted all those years. I really don't want to admit this, and it's probably going to do nothing but move me a step in the wrong direction, but…I miss you, Pam.

-Jim

* * *

Pam finished the letter, a sad smile playing on her face. Even while inwardly battling with his feelings for her, he managed to crack some jokes. Also, through the merger, and now having the great opportunity to know Andy personally, she couldn't help but feel bad for Jim. First Dwight. Then Andy. Then Dwight _and_ Andy. Poor guy can't catch a break.

But one thing stood out in the letter. To anyone else, it would seem like a trivial detail, totally unimportant. But to Pam, having known Jim, knew it was significant. Jim ate a tuna sandwich for lunch that day. He ate a tuna sandwich after eating a ham and cheese sandwich every day for the five years he was in Scranton.

She had never thought about it until then, but it suddenly dawned on her _why _Jim always ate ham and cheese. On his first day in Scranton, he had neglected to bring a lunch, not realizing that he needed to. So, Pam offered him half of hers. That day she happened to be eating a ham and cheese sandwich.

Shaking the thought off, thinking that she was reading too far into things, she put that letter down and grabbed the next.


	4. Letter 3

**A/N:** Hey all! I'm seriously sorry for the long delay. School had been a little crazy lately, and with my sorority's spring rush happening, and catching the flu virus that's been flying around my campus, I'm finally finding a little time to write. So anyway, I hope you enjoy this next letter.OH! and if you would like an example of a koto (it will make more sense when you read the letter), I posted a link to a pic on my profile. I hope it works. Feedback is always appreciated!

* * *

June 3 

Pam-

Today I was settling into my new apartment, unpacking boxes and all that good stuff. Guess what I found? Well, actually, I guess I'm going to have to tell you because I can't actually _wait_ for you to guess. It's a letter. I will have already written the answer and I won't be there when you're reading this 148.77 miles away. (I MapQuested it).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. So there I was, unpacking all my stuff, and there, hidden in a box full of random, nostalgic high-school paraphernalia, was a sketch you drew for me a few years ago. Do you remember? I was having a particularly bad day; Michael was gone for the day, and Dwight used his "Assistant to the Regional Manager" card to take the opportunity to practice playing his koto. He said he had a recital or something that weekend, which _had_ to be completely false. Who would ever let someone, especially _Dwight_, perform that monstrosity in public? That thing was absurdly ridiculous. You _must _remember it, it was some Japanese instrument. It was, like, 6 and a half feet long, with strings like a guitar, and he just kept plucking that one note over and over and _over_.

Everyone had retreated into the break room to get away, but I couldn't because I had to wait for an important phone call from a client and I couldn't leave my desk because there was no way I could hear the phone over Dwight's incessant plucking.

So there I was, sitting at my desk, waiting for the call, concerned because the pounding in my head seemed to be matching the beat (if you could call it that) of the koto, and then you left the sanctuary of the break room to stop by my desk. You didn't say anything, you just slipped a piece of paper in my hand and went back. Not that I blame you. I would have given anything to be in there with you guys, listening to, what I'm sure, was Kevin giving his deep philosophical views on life.

Anyway, I unfolded the piece of paper, and it was a sketch of me, standing on a beach, holding a demolished koto over my head triumphantly. Across the top, you had written "Think of your happy place." And that was all it took. That one simple gesture, and everything seemed okay. I would make it through the day.

Now, here in Stamford, with your picture lying on the coffee table in front of me, I'm thinking about that happy place. Where is it, exactly? A few years ago, it probably would have been thousands of miles away, relaxing on that beach you drew, a beer in hand. But now, I _am_ 148.77 miles away, but the only thing I want in my hand, is yours.

-Jim


	5. Letter 4

**A/N:** Okay, clearly this whole "one letter a day" thing isn't working for me, seeing as it's been about 2 months since I updated. And, yes, I apologize for that, but I'm going to be realistic. I'm going to update when I can, and I'll try to make them more frequent, but I can't promise anything, especially since the school year is coming to a close. That said, I thank those who are sticking with me. It means a lot. I hope you all enjoy the next letter!

* * *

Pam smiled while reading the last letter. She did remember that day. And, as bad as it was for Jim, what with having to listen to the musical styling of Dwight and all, it was just as bad for her.

She had had a fight with Roy that morning over something so trivial, that she couldn't even remember now what it was about. Not that it was an uncommon occurrence. Early morning fights were happening more and more often. But she would go to work, see Jim and listen to his random musings of the day, and her day would be brightened.

But not that day. When Dwight brought out that damned koto, everyone made a beeline for the break room, knowing that their ears would thank them greatly. But Pam…Pam wanted nothing more than to stay, even if it did mean having to listen to Dwight, because at least, she would be with Jim.

But she thought people would get suspicious, after all, she was with Roy and Kelly spread gossip more often than she spread lip-gloss over her lips. And that's saying a lot. So Pam followed her coworkers and spent the day listening to Meredith talk about her latest drunken conquest, Kelly about her latest shopping spree, and Angela criticizing them for their "morally repugnant behavior", all the while, stared out at Jim, wishing she could be there with him.

Smiling at the memory and thinking how she could have never known then that she would actually end up with Jim, Pam slid that letter back into its envelope and picked up the next one.

* * *

June 4

Pam-

I have a confession to make. I absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, _hate_ jellybeans. And as random as that sounds, I felt like I should finally tell you. After hanging out at your desk for five years, I think I managed to repress my distain for the squishy, yet suspiciously _crunchy_, candy because they gave me an excuse to talk to you. In fact, maybe even subconsciously, I began to like them because I started to associate them with you. But today, one of my coworkers, Karen, offered me some from a bowl on her desk, and the very thought of them disgusted me.

But after that, for the rest of the day, I could stop thinking about jellybeans. I know that sounds pathetic, but hey, cut me some slack. Without Dwight around to play pranks on, what else am I supposed to do to keep myself occupied? Although, I'm beginning to think Andy may be a good potential target. But…I'm not sure how he'd handle it. Maybe I'll test the waters with the classic "Office Supplies in Jell-O". Hmm…

Hang on. Where was I? Oh right. Jellybeans. Anyway, like I was saying, after spending the greater part of my day mulling over those vile little candies, I reached a conclusion. I, James D. Halpert, am a jellybean.

Think about it. They are sort of soft and squishy on the inside, but protected by a shell on the outside. That's how I am. Whenever I'm around you, I just want to let out all that I'm feeling inside. I want you to know how much you mean to me, how much I care for you. And I just don't want you to know, either. I want the world to know. I want to shout it from the rooftops. But I can't. I have to hide it. That's where the protective shell comes in. My shell is my smile and my jokes. Have you ever noticed that whenever you mention Roy or your wedding to me my response is _always_ a joke or some kind of sarcastic remark? Yeah, well. That isn't a coincidence. It's the only way I could keep myself from letting you know how I really feel. I didn't want to expose you to my soft, squishy insides when I knew you were with Roy. It wouldn't have been fair to you, and I cared too much about you to put you through that. Until, you know, like, 4 days ago when I did…

-Jim

* * *

When she finished reading the letter, Pam's realized her mouth was hanging slightly open. Jim hated jellybeans? She had no idea. It both amazed and touched her that he pretended to like them for five years because he thought he needed an excuse to talk to her. And leave it to Jim to find similarities between himself and the candies. As sad as his metaphor was, she also found it slightly comical. God, she loved him and his ability to come up with the randomest things no one else would ever think of.

Pam also grinned proudly when she saw that Jim had refused Karen's jellybeans.


	6. Letter 5

**A/N: **It's official! School is over! yayy! And that means (hopefully) I will be much more consistant in letter posting. I really, really am going to try to knock out one, if not every day, then every other day. As long as I'm not stuck pulling double shifts at my work, which happens WAY to often more my liking. But anyhoo, I hope you enjoy the next letter. OH! and the PS at the end of the letter...was really my thought. But I threw it in anyway. Because it made me happy.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything you may recognize in the story, I probably wouldn't spend my time writing fanfiction about it.

* * *

June 5

Pam-

So, today at work we had a birthday party for one of our salesmen, Martin. And I have to say that the whole day was, well…oddly anticlimactic. Sure, everyone wished him a "happy birthday", but that was it. But then again, I guess anything would fail in comparison to the birthday celebrations at Dunder Mifflin Scranton. Michael wasn't there, singing only the high harmonies, if you could even call it a "harmony", for "Happy Birthday." Dwight wasn't there, offering to make his "scrumptious" beet cake. Stanley wasn't there, giving his famous birthday smiles. Meredith wasn't there, spiking the birthday punch. But most importantly, you weren't there, giving the last few bites of your cake. There wasn't even cake here in Stamford.

Since there was no party to break up the long, monotonous day, I spent my time making sales calls. Yeah, I didn't believe me either. You know me better than that. Seriously though, I spent the day thinking about Michaels's birthday, just a few weeks ago, which got me thinking about Kevin and his cancer scare and how we skipped out of Michael's party to go shopping for a gift for Kevin.

Well, after we picked up the party pack of M&M's, the American Pie 2 DVD, and the 69 cups of noodles and I decided to pick up a few things for myself, you seemed surprised that I picked up a bottle of fabric softener. And to be honest, I was surprised I picked it up in your presence.

You see, the thing is, I'm really not the kind of guy that uses fabric softener. Normally, I don't even separate my laundry to wash it. Although, I did find out the hard way that it's generally not a very good idea to wash new red items with whites. Especially white button-down shirts that you wear to work. But anyway, like I was saying, I never used to use fabric softener. That is, until I found out that you used it.

Now, I swear I'm not a psycho stalker or anything, but for the first few weeks I was at Scranton, whenever I was near you, I could smell…_something_. And it drove me crazy for months, not being able to figure out what it was. I knew it was some sort of flowery smell, but I also knew it was too faint to be perfume. For a while I figured it was your shampoo, but then, that time you invited all of us to your apartment after we worked late fixing Michael's latest screw-up, I took the opportunity to snoop around. No, "snoop" is too strong of a word. Like I said, _not _a stalker. I perused your apartment. I was curious. Anyway, that's when I found the bottle of fabric softener in your bathroom closet. And it hit me: that's what the smell was, that's what _your_ smell was.

So the next day after work, I went straight to the store and bought the same kind that you had. I never used it to wash my clothes, that would have been excessive. I used it to wash my sheets. And as bad as that may sound, please understand that it wasn't a sexual thing or anything like that. But going to sleep every night smelling those flowers, and reminding me of you, was strangely comforting. You were my best friend. I guess I just liked feeling like you were around. I could go to sleep every night thinking of all the laughs we shared that day instead of all the headaches Dwight gave me.

I really didn't tell you any of this to creep you out. But I just thought you should know. And even if I didn't wash my sheets in fabric softener that smelt like you, I would still go to bed every night thinking of you.

-Jim

P.S. I'm totally watching _Batman Begins _right now as I write this. How _awesome_ would it be to have that Batmobile?

* * *

Pam laid the letter next to her, not knowing what to think of Jim latest revelation. She felt like she should have been a little weirded-out over the whole fabric-softener thing, but she wasn't. She _couldn't_ be. Had it been anyone else, she would have filed a restraining order, but with Jim, she found it flattering. She loved the idea that simply her smell brought him comfort. Because, truth be told, whenever she passed a stranger on a street who had the same cologne as Jim, she always did a double take, looking behind her just to make sure it wasn't actually him. And even though it never was, she always walked away with a smile on her face because even it was just for a second, Jim was around.

She also had a strange urge to call Jim and request that he bring home _Batman_ _Begins_ for their movie night. That batmobile really did kick some serious ass. And of course, you could never go wrong watching Christian Bale for two and half hours. But then, thinking that she may accidentally let something that would indicate what she was doing slip, she decided against it and instead, picked up the next letter.


End file.
